


sang et la peau, morceaux brisés

by skydork (klismaphilia)



Series: Requests, Prompt Fills and Gifts [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Dom/sub, Human Ashtray, Human Furniture, M/M, Master/Servant, Mental Instability, Scarification, Self-Denial, Sexual Violence, Skin Hunger, Smoking, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/skydork
Summary: "I wish I could have all of you,” Hux says. “I wish I could take you apart in front of your Knights, in front of Snoke. Break your pretty skin in with belt marks and a whip, leave you lashed and bloody before them." 
   Or: Kylo Ren is everything Hux wants, and yet everything that disgusts him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missabigailhobbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missabigailhobbs/gifts).



> I'm taking requests on tumblr right now [@klismapositive](http://www.klismapositive.tumblr.com)
> 
> Leave me some prompts if you'd like. This one is for [@missabigailhobbs ](http://www.missabigailhobbs.tumblr.com)

Ever since Hux could remember he’d had a fascination with skin; how easily it was broken, how little it took to part the thin layers, draw deep into the flesh with marks that scarred over in white and red blemishes. Humans, of course, were so unbelievably fragile-- transparent and vitreous, all their insecurities buried inside them, underneath the skin. It lingered, like a plague… this  _ virus,  _ this  _ wrongness  _ that was their race.

He had come to find that Kylo Ren was among the most insecure of their kind. His flaws were tattooed across his face, and as such, it was no wonder he sought to cover himself so often, decking his body with layers upon layers of pitch fabric, as though he could bury his inadequacy in clothing. A dream that, frankly, Hux was tempted to call  _ cute,  _ with a dismissive mock and a quirk of his brow; Ren couldn’t escape his true nature, his longing, his  _ emotion. _

Neither could Hux. 

For too long he’d found himself tightly wound under his so-called  _ “delusions of grandeur”--  _ it was a true irony, that Ren was everything Hux wished he  _ could  _ be, and yet their attitudes could not have been more distinct. Hux, of course, was professional, authoritarian,  _ orderly.  _ Kylo was  _ disorder,  _ raw power and unhinged brutality. 

Therefore, it only made sense that he was jealous. Why  _ shouldn’t  _ Hux be jealous, of the very thing he could never have, that  _ indiscretion,  _ that  _ apathy _ , the  _ strength  _ that Snoke had promised him and given away to-- to…

_ This  _ ungrateful  _ child. _

He’d not been gentle, not even the first time, when he’d grown enraged enough to spit in Ren’s face, backhand him as though it would prove a power to his being that he was likely incapable of even harnessing. He’d been forceful, of course,  _ forceful,  _ to his roots, as he’d pressed Ren back into the wall, crowded him, hissed in his face and attempted to muffle those heated tears in his eyes with the vitriol, the venom of his voice. 

“ _ Careful, Ren.” _

Always those two words.

Always.

And of course, Kylo knew the routine at this point, his hands gripped to Hux’s frail arms hard enough to leave bruises under the stark press of fabric over his skin. He knew the routine, even when he leveled eyes with the General and spat out that simple word that sent Hux’s blood boiling in the same manner as it would some restless, non-sentient  _ creature. _

“ _ Envious?” _

At the end of the day, it didn’t matter whether Hux was envious or not; he’d end up on his knees before Hux, his head turned just enough to shield his face from view. Hux knows if he were to turn it up he’d be filled with enmity once more, that wretched smirk, those wretched eyes, that  _ loathsome face  _ of his which stayed ever-stoic even under the firm hit of Hux’s hand. 

Ren kneeled, but he never  _ bowed. _

The General curls fingers into matted black hair, jerks his head up and to the side, bristling; his teeth clench in a firm line and he glares, boot hovering over the hard bulge beneath the Knight’s robes. It’s infuriatingly large, enough that he can see it under those pfaasking layers--  _ it doesn’t matter, none of it. _

Except it does, and far too much.

Adept fingers trace a line down the contours of Kylo’s neck, along his adam’s apple and the sweat slicked nape, tucking hair behind his ear and lingering for a mere second on his collarbone.

“You don’t command me.”

Ren smiles, knowingly, lashes shading his dark, sparkling orbs. He flicks the lighter open when Hux leans forward, cigarette between his pursed lips, flash sparking the end until the General is able to inhale, roughly, and leave a trail of ash in his wake after the release.

His boot grinds into Ren’s crotch a little more vigorously, and he’s pleased to feel Ren buck his hips. The Knight casts the lighter aside on the floor, his hands along Hux’s small waist, catching in his button-down shirt for only seconds.

“Did I say you could touch me?” Hux questions.

Ren says nothing, playing guileless; Hux teases his cheek with the pull of a soft thumb, before drawing his hand underneath the other’s chin and tilting his chin. They’re close now, so entwined that Hux can feel Ren’s hitched breath as a heat across his pinked cheeks. 

“ _ I  _ am in control here. Open your mouth.”

Kylo takes hold of Hux’s hand, raises it to his lips; the moistness contained by his lips wraps around to slim digits, sliding open and allowing the ginger to press his lower lip down, hold him in that position of depravity, swallowing with a certainty that speaks volumes of defiance.

Hux  _ hates _ him, here. ( _ But really, he loves him too. He loves seeing Ren pitiful, anguished.) _

“Good boy,” Hux continues, and his plucks the cigarette from between his lips, dragging the bitten end along the hollow of Kylo’s throat, a spurt of laughter filling the silence. “But not good enough.”

And with that, the ash-covered edge is being smeared, pressed into the revealed skin of his throat and edged on him; Ren grits his teeth, and yet a croaked wail escapes, can’t be held with the pressure on both his jaw and the burn on his skin. Hux twists the offending object, blunting him; there’s a trail of black and grey over the blistered bubbles of red, that rash that’s started to bloom so beautifully along his flesh.

_ This  _ is what Hux enjoys about the world.

The feeling of  _ pain,  _ the pain of  _ others,  _ marking and splitting men apart, opening them up and toying with their flagellated state of being. He needs  _ more,  _ can hardly be sated…

He pinches the ashes on the floor between his fingers, ignoring the heat half emanating from them, and slides them between those chapped, well-bitten lips, pressing them onto Ren’s pink tongue. A moan builds, low in Kylo’s throat, and he licks at Hux’s fingers, pathetic,  _ worthless. _

“I wish I could have all of you,” Hux says. “I wish I could take you apart in front of your Knights, in front of Snoke. Break your pretty skin in with belt marks and a whip, leave you lashed and bloody before them. Maybe sink something in your gut, open it up and leave you eviscerated. I’d wrap your intestines around you, paint your skin with whatever comes out otherwise. You’re so pretty already, Ren, but you could be  _ art.”  _ He smiles, haughty, callous.

“Or better, even: just suck bruises into you, smack you around until they begin to tint. Every day, different shades of red and purple and black and pale-yellow. You’d look so sickly that you might have a  _ reason  _ to wear that mask. I’m the only one to love that ugly face of yours, aren’t I? That big nose, red flush,  _ childlike  _ expression.”

Hux extends another cigarette and Ren lights it. He doesn’t waste a second before gouging the Knight again, this time over his collar, sticking the butt of the cig flat against it and curling, painting Ren the way he’s always wanted to, making him  _ glisten,  _ making him  _ ache.  _ Tears well in Ren’s eyes, those once void orbs now overflowing with rivulets of despair, hardly pausing in the emotion that is to fruitfully displayed in the darkness between them.

Those blisters are so pretty, stiff welts that ooze slightly, blood and a slight tinge of yellow at the edges, glorious and disappointing at once.

Hux leans forward and takes Ren’s mouth with his own.


End file.
